Marines in Middle Earth
by Onhiro
Summary: What would happen if a platoon of marines during WWII were transported from Earth to Middle Earth? Read and find out! Set during the battle shown at the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring.
1. THE BEGINNING

**AN- Okay, this idea has been floating around my head for quite some time, so I wanted to get it down. In reference as to how the narrator refers to his enemies, I just want you to know that I have nothing against them, and greatly respect them and their culture. It's just the way that the Americans thought of them way back when.**

CHAPTER ONE  
THE BEGINNING

You know, I never liked Asia. I had always wished that I had been smarter and joined up with the Army instead of the Marine Corps. At least that way I could fight in Europe instead of Asia. In Europe there weren't half as many diseases, and it got cold over there. Winter wasn't just a hell of a lot of rain. And the Army got better food. And cigarettes in their rations. I don't smoke, but half of the platoon does, and they like to complain. Mainly to me. And if I had been in Europe, maybe I would never have gone to the New Place, as we called it. But I get ahead of myself. Maybe I should start from the beginning…

My name is Richard Jacobs, and was called 'Ritchie' when younger…a name that I despised. I had always wanted to prove to my family that I was too big for that name, too tough. Now I absolutely realize that I was a stupid git, as the Brits would say.

Anyway, I joined the service at age eighteen, in the year 1939. Fresh out of high school, I felt it was my duty to join the toughest bunch of thugs I could. Hence the Marines. I knew about Hitler's Nazi Germany. Hell, nearly all of us did. I figured that the chances of us actually going over there like the older men did during the Great War of the 1910s were slim. But if I did, I wanted to be as prepared as possible. If I had known where my decision would lead me, I would have stayed home and helped pap farm taters for the rest of my days.

Basic training sucked, and I regretted my choice the first morning after arriving at the camp. But I stuck through to the end, got chewed out a lot for my sarcastic comments, but I was in, and happy once I was done. _Who couldn't be more proud of me?_ I thought. I had finally outgrown that ridiculous name. But then the most shocking, and angering, moment of my young life happened. Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese on December 7, 1941. It not only angered me, but it confused me. Why would the Japanese attack us even while peace talks were being held?

What annoyed me the most, back then, was that though I was a Marine, I wasn't going anywhere. I was ordered to train in California, at Camp Elliot. I was part of the 9th Regiment, and after a long time of sitting around and twiddling our thumbs, the 3rd Marine Division finally set off…to Auckland New Zealand.

Now, to be sure, New Zealand is a _beautiful_ place, and if I weren't so in love with the States, I'd probably want to live there. But I wanted action, all of us did. And we all got our wish, on November 1st, 1943. We landed at Empress Augusta Bay, Bougainville, and we would stay there for a few months while fighting stiff Japanese resistance. I had never seen a Jap, being from New York, much less fought one before. But those little fuckers were mean-hearted bastards. They didn't understand what 'surrender' meant, an annoyance, let me tell you. It was in that battle that I got promoted to Corporal.

After we handed control over to some Army dog-feet troops in January of '44, we headed back out to sea. On June of the same year, we attacked Guam. After twenty-two days of hellish fighting, we finally made the island 'safe' from any Jap counter-attacks. This, of course, did not mean that we were free of any duties we were expected to do, such as stay behind and wipe out all remaining Jap resistance. And then what happened I thought was praise, rather then a curse that it turned out to be. I was assigned to the 23rd Marine Regiment and promoted to sergeant. So I said goodbye to my friends in the 3rd, and made new friends in the 4th Marine Division. It wasn't long until I found out why I had been transferred. The USMC was going to take a little spit of an island called 'Iwo Jima' which meant 'Sulphur Island' in Japanese. I was part of 2nd Rifle Platoon, Easy Company, 2nd Battalion 23rd Marines, 4th Marine Division. I knew the men of my platoon better then I knew my family back in the States.

It was nice, in a way, because I got my very own squad. The very first time I was expected to order people around. I was good at it, and because of this and my resilience and skill in battle, I was nicknamed Sergeant 'Slayer' Jacobs. And so began my journey into Hell itself.

Yet, I had to be at least a little thankful. Iwo Jima, with its ashy soil and overwhelming enemy ferocity…well, it prepared me for my trials in the New Place. And, God, I lost so many of my friends. I will never forget the screams of Iwo Jima, never. And it was also on Iwo Jima that my platoon and I went to the New Place.

What happened was this: the remnants of a weapons platoon joined up with ours to replace our fallen Marine comrades. I wasn't going to complain, for we were now equipped with one 60mm mortar and two 30 caliber machine guns. But my platoon was told to go take out a Japanese mortar position, an easy enough job…or so we thought.

It was an ambush, really. Four Japanese machine guns, plus a bunch of riflemen throwing grenades. Add the mortar fire, and…well, we didn't last long. I distinctly remember feeling machine-gun bullets tear through my chest even as my back was peppered by shrapnel from a grenade. Then all went dark for a few seconds, and the world reappeared, dropping me flat on my face. I noticed the grey and ashy dirt, and the nasty smell of sulphur. But then I noticed something else: I couldn't smell the ocean, and there was no gunfire. At all.

"Llie n'vanima ar' lle atara lanneina," a beautiful and melodious voice said, but I couldn't mistake the scorn I heard in it. I had just been insulted. "What are you doing here? The human army is on the _other_ side of the elf army!"


	2. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?

CHAPTER TWO

WHAT THE FUCK IS _THAT_?!

I coughed weakly as I pushed myself off of the ground. _What the hell was that?_ I asked myself as I tried to collect myself. Shaking my head firmly, I was reassured by the weight of my helmet. Also present was the heaviness of my light assault pack. And the bandoliers of rifle ammunition I had. Now I just had to find the rifle itself…

"Looking for this?" the voice said, and I looked up irritably. And stopped and stared. _What the hell?_ Before me stood a man dressed entirely in medieval armor, including a helm and a finely made sword. And the fact that he was holding my M1 Garand just made a real bad picture, like something from a messed up dream I might have had when I was a kid.

"Give. That. Back," I said as calmly and clearly as possible.

The man sneered. "And if I don't?"

I scoffed. "Then I'll fucking kill you. So give it back!"

There was the sound of running feet and hard breathing behind me, but I didn't break eye contact with the madman in front of me. "Hey, Sarge! Thank God I found…you…." There was a pregnant pause, and then the sound of a BAR being cocked. "Drop the weapon. _Now_!" It was 'Little Jimmy,' as I had nick-named him. He was six-foot-four and was very large and muscular. He cut a very imposing figure.

But it was then that I noticed just how fucking _tall_ the medieval man was. He had to have stood at least seven feet tall. But still, he was tall and…willowy, I guess you could say. Jimmy was like a moving mountain. The man sniffed disdainfully as he dropped my M1 Garand barrel-first. I winced as all the training I had to do on maintaining a weapon kicked in. One of the major rules: NEVER LET ANY FOREIGN PARTICLES ENTER YOUR WEAPON, ESPECIALLY VIA THE BARREL!

But still, I ran forward and grabbed the rifle as soon as the madman stepped away from it far enough. Quickly knocking the end of the barrel against my well-worn boots to knock the crud out of the end of the weapon, I looked back up to the madman.

"So, who the fuck are you?" Little Jimmy demanded.

The man didn't answer. Instead he kept his gaze focused upon me. "Are you a soldier of the Last Alliance, or are you one of Sauron's many minions?"

I looked back at Jimmy, who just shrugged and shook his head. Turning back to the madman, I brought my rifle up slightly. "Are you part of the Axis, or are you one of the Allies?" Secretly I was hoping he'd say he was part of the Axis, 'cause I'd _really _enjoy blowing this pinprick away.

The man raised one of his finely sculpted eyebrows. "I know not of this 'Axis' you speak of, but I am part of the Final Alliance."

"Who is this Sauron you spoke of?"

The man only looked at me in shock. "If you are a human, and this close to Mordor, then you should know who Sauron is. Sauron, the ruler of the One Ring of Power, the Great Deceiver? That Sauron?"

I blinked. Twice. "Wait, we aren't on the Pacific Ocean anymore? Not even on _Asia_?!"

The man sighed in frustration. "Valar above? Do you test me, a humble elf, with having to deal with such imbeciles?"

I heard Jimmy snort behind me, and I started to laugh outright. When the man again raised an eyebrow, I just rolled my eyes. "An _elf_?! Come on, you have to be kidding me. So, what are you warring against, goblins?"

"Not quite," the man sniffed. "No, we fight Uruks of Mordor. And, I _am_ an elf!" With that he lifted the helm off of his face. And I stared. The man had pointy ears.

"Oh, good God!" I swore as I looked at the man…ELF in horror. And then the sound of clattering rocks at his back got my attention. I turned, and froze as the biggest and the _nastiest_ creature I had ever seen came around a boulder. It roared, and lifted a nasty looking sword forged of crude iron. "Holy _FUCK_!!!" I yelped even as I brought up my Garand.

Jimmy had also reacted, and we both started firing at the same time, his BAR blasting away rapidly, some shots hitting, but most going wild. I, however, had all those years of hunting on the farm, as well as training to fall back on.

_Ka-TOOM-ka-TOOM!!!_ I fired as quickly as I could even before the rifle had completely aligned with the _thing's_ chest. But both shots landed dead on, dust and dirt snapping off of the _thing's_ chest, and black blood blasted out the back of the _thing_. It dropped to its knees with an odd sounding gurgle, and collapsed fully, dead.

I spun to the ma-…elf. "What the fuck is _that_?!" I almost screamed, pointing wildly at the dead _thing_.

The elf looked disgusted. "A scout. I must report to my superiors. I suggest you follow me."


	3. Tactical Problems

**AN- Next chapter in this little story series. This won't last much longer. Only a few more chapters before the conclusion is reached. Read, enjoy, and review.**

CHAPTER THREE

TACTICAL PROBLEMS

One week. One full week of waiting and fighting. And for what? A bunch of conceited elves, not wishing to help a small group of humans that were fighting the same damn enemies as they were. I sighed as I tossed the last pile of the ashy dirt upon the shallow grave of the seventh man to die in this place. Jack Farley, a private who hailed from New Jersey. Now there were what? Twenty-three of us left.

Not only that, but we were running out of water and food. And ammo. How were we going to live without ammo, what with the Uglies using swarm tactics every time they came? I hadn't thought that anything could be worse then Iwo Jima, but I was wrong. The Japs, at least they were clean. Every single time these creatures attacked, the smell of death, disease, and rotting flesh would precede them and linger for hours after the last had been killed and burnt to ashes.

Folding up my shovel, I straightened, and slowly climbed the small atoll we had fortified to the best of our abilities. Pausing at the top to view the crappy vista that we overlooked, I sighed as I continued forward, heading for the tents that had been set up to act as an HQ.

Just as I entered the main tent, our mortar sounded with a hollow thud. Meant that our observation post had spotted yet another Ugly raiding party. You would have thought that the Uglies would've learned that it was a good idea to stay away from our position. Can't give the creatures much credit for brains, though.

"Sir, Jack's been taken care of. What are your orders?"

The 'ell-tee' didn't look up from the hand-drawn map of the area. Lieutenant Bill Straithairn was a career soldier who bore a lot of anger over the fact that he hadn't been promoted as much as he would've liked. Then again, he had started out as an enlisted man back in the Great War. "Sergeant, I need you to go and request supplies from our northern neighbors."

Inwardly I groaned as I snapped off a salute. I had just been to see the elves not two days ago, and they sent me away with the same answer. No supplies for the dirty humans. "Sir, who do you suggest I go with?"

Finally the lieutenant looked up, his squinty grey eyes peering sharply at me from underneath his prominent, and bushy, eyebrows. "Sergeant, you'll be going alone. I can't lend out any more men. Sorry, but that's how it will be."

I stared at him in astonishment. _You dirty fifty-year-old sonuvabitch!_ "Sir, do you think that is wise?"

The lieutenant grinned sharply at me. "I have confidence in your fighting abilities. Don't disappoint me again, Sergeant. We need those supplies. Don't take no for an answer…"

Two hours later:

I trudged forlornly through the desolate landscape, damning the elves for their stupidity. It wasn't even all the elves, either. It was just that one that I had previously met. He was high-class nobility, and took an intense dislike for any and all humans. If only I had been able to talk with their leader himself. Under this 'Gil-Galad's' order, and person entering his camp was to be treated with utmost hospitality. This meant I was fed and given fine wine and fresh water. But whenever I asked for aid for my fellow Marines, Dickhead (as I fondly named the first elf I met) wouldn't let me have council with his king. He simply turned me down, every time. The elves around us didn't like it, but evidently Dickhead held enough power that they couldn't do anything about it.

As I trudged along, a growling caught my attention. Looking up, I saw the four Uglies looking back at me in equal surprise, though whether this was from my odd clothes or simply the fact that I was there I wouldn't know. Spotting one with a bow, I brought my rifle up and fired one quick shot, the report echoing sharply down the small ravine. The Ugly dropped heavily.

The other three howled with rage and drew their weapons. Despite the fact that I could easily kill all of them with a few more well-placed shots, I couldn't waste the ammo. As the first one came within striking range, I flipped my rifle around and held the barrel firmly in my hands. Quickly taking the stance of a baseball player, I swung my rifle just like I swung that old bat I used to have.

The stock of my M1 caught the Ugly squarely in the cheek bone, and there was a nasty crunch as its head was wrenched to the side. Few people truly understood just how much it hurt to get hit with a rifle. That was twelve pounds of hard wood and metal hitting you. The Ugly fell back, screeching as it clutched its broken face.

I dropped my rifle and drew both my Ka-Bar fighting knife and my bayonet. Reversing the bayonet so it pointed down in my left hand, I caught the first strike from the leading Ugly. I returned the favor of its strike by way of a knife jab in its throat. I ripped out the knife as brutally as I could.

As the now de-throated Ugly dropped to the ground, I spun and kicked the onrushing Ugly as hard as I could, my kick landing squarely between its legs. As it dropped to its knees and clutched its groin, I got in close and shoved both blades up under its armor and into its lungs and heart.

Within minutes my blades were cleaned and taken care of, and I was running from the site of the conflict, just in case other Uglies came to investigate. I wanted nothing more then to be amongst my comrades, where it was safe…this would prove to be one of the greatest false securities of my life.


	4. We Few, We Happy Few

**AN: Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this one. Hopefully everyone who reads this one enjoys it, and will review it, if I get lucky...read, enjoy, and please review!**

CHAPTER FOUR

WE FEW, WE HAPPY FEW…

"Sir, Sergeant Jacobs reporting for duty, sir!" I snapped sharply, standing at attention, my arm brought up in a crisp salute.

Straithairn looked up, and then stood slowly, achingly. Returning the salute with what sharpness he could muster, he eyed me with a knowing look. "Couldn't get aid, huh?"

"Sir, no sir!"

"Very well, sergeant." He drew a cigarette from one of his pockets, and lit it, taking in a long draw. "That will be the last time you have to go. I've got a feeling," he growled out, voice raspy from thirst and from his cig, "that we won't be here for much longer."

A chill of foreboding raced through my body, and goose bumps prickled up and down my arms, despite the heat of the air. Shaking the feeling, I was ordered to return to my men.

I made my way with slow and troubled steps. I, too, had felt as though our time here in this barren land was drawing to a close, and I knew it wouldn't be a happy ending for us. The sound of gunfire ahead caught my attention with deadly intensity. "Fuck!" I swore harshly.

Setting forward at a dead run, I made it to my squad in record time. They were not firing yet, but looking down the short natural trench that we had always funneled the Uglies down. "Alright boys, how we doing on ammo?" I barked as I checked my own ammo supply.

"We're doing alright, Sarge," Corporal Fendleton reported. "Our squad has enough for this attack, _maybe_ the next." Even I could tell that that was a probably rather big 'maybe'.

"Alright, everyone keep to your squad mate. Fire only when you know you're going to hit. Don't waste a single shot." The first of the Uglies became visible through the smoke and haze that their tramping feet kicked up. I wrinkled my nose at the now familiar and disgusting smell that forewent the Ugly attacks. "We are Marines! We _will_ prevail! Semper Fi! Do or die!"

"**Ooh**-**RAH**!" my squad responded, bringing their weapons to their shoulders. The steady cracking of an M1 being fired was heard in the squad to our left flank, for it was in that squad that Private Daniels was placed, and he was, I had noted, a damn good shot.

"Steady," I called as the Uglies got closer and closer. Gunfire from both sides of my squad's position sounded out, and the Uglies began dropping fast. Yet still closer they came. "Steady!" I said much more forcefully this time. I saw my men's hands tightening on their weapons. "Steady!" Now I could see the Uglies, and knew they could see me. Thinking my men not firing meant that we were weak, they seemed to charge all the faster. "NOW!"

All of my squad fired in a volley, catching the Uglies in a relative surprise. They dropped hard and fast, their advance faltering. The .30 Caliber Machine Guns finally opened up, and what had been an attack turned out to be a rout. "Cease fire!" I shouted, fanning my arm up and down in front of my face so that those who could not hear me could still get the order. Slowly the sounds of firing stopped. "Anybody hit?" I shouted loud enough to be hear in the flanking units. It wasn't long until I got the negatives from both sides. I sighed in relief…no man down.

But still...I was worried. I had seen just a small section of the Elven host, and just that small section was thousands strong. They wouldn't have gathered such a large force if their enemies didn't have a force that was equally as strong. In fact, the enemy army had to be greater in numbers, I realized. They were not as skilled as the elves, and seemed to lack almost any military discipline. Their one tactic seemed to be to throw massive waves at their enemies. I thanked whatever gods there were here that we hadn't been deemed to great a threat. If the Uglies came in thousands instead of hundreds, well...I had no illusions as to what would happen in that case. We just didn't have enough men and weapons to repel an assault that large. I wondered how long it would take for the Uglies to come to the same conclusion.

I snorted derisively as I leaned back against the wall of my foxhole. The bastards probably wouldn't even know that they were using the right tactics if they hit us with a massive wave...it'd probably just be them getting annoyed with us and reacting appropriately. Like a man flicking at a bee, and then hitting it with a newspaper when it had been a pest for too long.

As if to answer my musings, there was a great baying of horns and the battle cry of thousands of voices from where the last attack had come from. My heart sunk to my boots, and I slumped. I was very tempted to start cursing, but what good would it do? I slowly stood, feeling all of my aches and pains that I had managed to ignore until that point as I looked up and down our defensive line. Suddenly I recalled a scene from Shakespeare's work "The Life of King Henry the Fifth" which I had studied in high school. "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers," I murmured as the sound of marching rolled over us. This, I knew, would be the end...


	5. Let Slip the Dogs of War

**AN: Well, I'm rather pleased that I got this out so soon, though I kind of wish it was sooner. Things are coming to a close for our Marines, but they are definitely going to do their best, as all Marines should. This chapter is dedicated to all the young kids out there who have ever enlisted and have done things that no one should ask anyone to do. We don't show our forces enough gratitude, but such is a soldier's lot in life. I salute our troops, past, present, and future.**

**Please, read, enjoy, and review!**

CHAPTER FIVE

LET SLIP THE DOGS OF WAR!

I was not surprised to see our observation elements falling back, sheer terror on their faces. Little Jimmy was one of them, and he jumped into my foxhole. "Sir, there's two thousand of them out there! How the fuck are we supposed to win this one?"

"That's easy," I growled. "Aim carefully. Did someone call in a mortar strike before you fell back?" A heavy _whump_ behind me answered my question, and moments later a crashing boom was heard somewhere in front of us. "It's not much, but I suppose it will do," I muttered as I settled my Garand against my shoulder. I only had six clips, and I knew that the rest of the men had the same, if not less. It didn't take a genius to realize that there were more of them than we had bullets. "Alright boys!" I shouted loud enough for my squad to hear, "We've got to break their charge as soon as possible! Once you feel confident that you can hit the fuckers, start firing!"

The next moments were agony. I knew just as well as everybody else that this would be our last stand...we just didn't have enough ammo. The despair that I felt almost broke me, but I was a Marine. I would prevail, and I would fight to my dying breath. As a voice roared echoing commands from far down the ravine, I jumped out of the foxhole. "Sergeant, where the hell you goin'?" Jimmy hissed.

"Don't worry, I'm just going to talk to the other squads about tactics," I answered as I ran off at a low crouch. Who knew how long I'd have before the Uglies actually came with firing range? Even as I ran up the short bluff that first squad had dug in, I kept glancing at the ravine. When would our doom finally arrive? When would our fates be sealed?

I finally crested the small rise of land, and I jumped into the first hole I came to. "Christ, Sergeant!" its owner yelped. "I could'a shot you!"

I grinned. "Oh, come on, Daniels, I know you are better than that! Listen, where's Sergeant Thompson?"

Daniels simply pointed down the line. "Three holes down, Sarge." I patted him on the shoulder and prepared to jump out of the hole. Before I could move out, Daniels wavering voice stopped me. "Sarge...are we going to make it?"

I paused, looking back at his young, scared face. I couldn't bear to lie to him. "You just shoot straight and true, and we'll see how everything turns out, ooh-rah?"

Instead of answering with a returned 'ooh-rah' he just clutched his rifle closer to his chest. "I just want to go home, Sarge," he said, voice breaking with unshed tears. "I just want to see my mom again."

I sighed, deflating a little. "So do I, Marine, so do I." With those words I scrambled out of his hole and ran down towards where Sergeant Thompson was, ignoring how my eyes stung and my throat felt like it was being squeezed. It was just the terrain, the smoky and sulphuric air. Nothing more, nothing less. Once I was within hearing distance of Thompson's position, I whistled loudly. Seeing that the older man looked my way, I waved my hand in a circle above my head, and pointed to myself before pumping my arm. _Rally point on me, double time_. Before even seeing if he acknowledged the order, I was running back to my squad.

Not pausing to visit anymore of the troops, I jumped into my hole, startling Little Jimmy. Before he could say anything, however, I was issuing orders. "Get Lieutenant Straithairn down here right away, private!"

He nodded and leaped up, running towards the command center. Peering over the top of my foxhole, I noticed that the Uglies hadn't come yet, though the sound of their approach was ever louder. "Jacobs, I swear to God you make me run that far again I'm going to kick your ass!" Sergeant Thompson yelled as he ran up, breathing harshly. I felt bad for a short moment, because Thompson had some bad allergies, but this was more important.

"I'm going to go fetch Peterson, I'll be back in a jiffy!" I shot back as I ran off, this time in the opposite direction of Thompson's squad. Moments later, Lieutenant Straithairn, Sergeant Thompson, Sergeant Peterson, and I were crouched in my hole, listening to the oncoming Ugly unit and the steady thumps and explosions caused be our mortar.

"When the hell are they going to finally get here?" Thompson growled irritably, his voice tight with hopeless rage.

"Don't wish for anything that you can't pay for," Straithairn rasped before coughing hard. Once his fit ended, he spat hard, and the dirt at his feet was tinged red with blood. Seeing our shocked faces, he grinned mirthlessly. "Goddamned infection. It's tearing the shit outta my throat. Don't worry, it isn't TB." He stood, looking towards the ravine where we knew that any moment the Uglies would pour forth. "I want the squads to fall back to the command post in the switchback formation. Thompson, when the Uglies hit the base of the hill, take your squad back fifty yards, and Jacobs, take yours back twenty-five.

"When the Uglies are fifty feet from your position, have your squad use hand-grenades, Peterson, and fall back seventy-five yards. Jacobs, your squad will fall back fifty yards at that point, and the whole process will continue like that, with Thompson and Peterson taking turns falling back seventy-five yards and Jacobs falling back fifty yards each time. Understood?"

"Yes sir," we all replied. What else could we say? It was a sound tactic. One squad would act as bait while the other two would be flankers. We knew enough about the Uglies to know that they would fall for the trick, probably every single time we did it.

"Return to your positions," Straithairn growled, a sadness in his eyes, and I suddenly realized that I would follow this man into hell itself. I might not like him as a man, but he had done everything in his power to keep us alive. You had to respect a man for that. As everyone left my hole and Jimmy jumped back in, I stood and faced the ravine.

"Well, Jimmy, it looks like we'll be doing a lot of running soon," I muttered sardonically. Raising my rifle to my shoulder, I played with the sights, setting it for the distance of the mouth of the ravine, four hundred fifty yards away. Loosening the strap, I slipped my arm through it and flared out my elbow so that the sling was now braced against my arm. I had learned long ago that this provided another source of stability for shooting. "Shoot the moment you can hit!" I shouted out loud for a second time in an hour. "Let's stop 'em dead!"

Seemingly both an eternity and a split second later, the first rank of Uglies came marching around the bend, surprisingly in a neat and uniform formation. Putting that aside, I internally shrugged. This just made them easier to hit. A booming crack sounded to my left, and then another to my right. Ignoring these, I found my shooting position, and breathed in deeply as I sighted my target. Easing out a half-breath, I paused, and then my rifle leaped in my hands, jarring against my shoulder seemingly on its own accord, and my ears rang with the report of the shot. A hit. The battle had finally begun.


	6. I Was Not Angry Since I Came To Arda!

**AN: This is the longest chapter to date for Marine In Middle Earth, and by far it is the reason why this fic is rated M and is an Angst fic. You'll see soon enough. The chapter title actually comes from Shakespeare's Henry V, where King Henry discovers all of the boys who aided the army by cooking and carrying baggage and general camp stuff slaughtered by French hands. He shouts out, "I was not angry since I came to France, until this instant!" It's very touching if slightly inaccurate as far as history goes. Anyway, this chapter gets very graphic. You have been warned.**

**Nonetheless, read, (hopefully) enjoy, and please review!**

CHAPTER SIX

I WAS NOT ANGRY SINCE I CAME TO ARDA!

The gunfire was almost continuous, and with nearly every shot, an Ugly died or was incapacitated. I knew that getting hit with one of the .30 caliber bullets must have felt like getting hit with a sledgehammer. Aiming again, I squeezed off another shot, watching as the shell solidly connected with the chest of a particularly disgusting looking and large Ugly, and the dust and dirt snapped off of its body, almost like it had been a taut string that had been plucked. Blinking at the odd picture, I shook my head, and fired yet again, dropping another Ugly.

Then I looked up, and nearly bolted in fear. Five monstrously huge things were charging our ranks, just coming around the bend in the ravine. They looked almost like hairless apes, only three times the height of the Uglies around them and easily two tons in weight apiece. They moved surprisingly quickly, knotted muscles rolling under their thick gray hides, and small eyes burned with malevolence as deep breaths as loud as steam engines burst between yellowed fangs and thick jagged teeth. They bore massive hammers and swords, and wore nothing but ratty loincloths that looked more like untreated cow hides than leather. Frankly, they were the most terrifying things that I had ever seen.

Raising my rifle, I sighted and squeezed off a shot, shouting victoriously as the bullet caught the lead monster square in the chest. Yet other than the skin around the wound twitching with the force of the impact and a gout of black blood spurting in the air, the thing didn't even slow down. Swearing desperately, I fired again, with the same end result as the first bullet. I noticed one of the other monsters slowing down as one of the .30 caliber machine guns focused in on it, hails of bullets catching it in the chest. Ignoring that, I aimed high at the lead monster, and fired. The bullet dropped more than I expected, and drilled into its neck, but that seemed to work.

The monster's head jerked back, and it clutched its neck as it twisted and fell, roaring in pain, its legs still trying to run. Soon it was thrashing, crushing nearby Uglies in its death throes. The monster that the .30 had started shooting at had already dropped, yet bullets still snapped into it. We were starting to break, to give into fear. Swearing, I rounded on another monster, seeing that the others were being dealt with as I had dealt with mine. It took another two shots, much to my anger, for the first shot was too far to the right and sank into the thick neck muscles, missing anything vital. My second bullet smacked into its head, just to the left of its nose, and it rag-dolled. By then, the other monsters were dead, but I noticed we had a much more pressing problem. The Uglies had taken advantage of the distraction caused by the large monsters by taking ground. They were now at the base of the hill.

Smacking Jimmy on the shoulder, I jumped out of our hole. "SECOND SQUAD, FOLLOW ME!" I roared at the top of my lungs, and waited until I saw all of the Marines in my squad moving towards me before I took off running towards the fifty yards mark. Noticing figures standing on top of the larger rocks around our command post, I felt slightly relieved. No doubt they had binoculars, and could call in targets for the mortar to fire upon.

As I dropped to the ground and faced where I came from, I still worried. It was simple mathematics. With only twenty-three of our Marines still left alive, the Uglies outnumbered us nearly one hundred-to-one. None of us had one hundred bullets, none of us (except possibly Daniels) could have made those one hundred shots even if we did have the ammo, and the mortar and our grenades couldn't take care of the all Uglies left over from our shooting. Growling at my weak thoughts, I aimed towards where I knew the Uglies would come.

But then came the multiple crashes of grenades going off, and I cursed as I realized that we would be falling back again before we even saw anymore Uglies. "Come on, boys, let's go!" I cried as I leaped to my feet and ran back another fifty yards. Setting up in a loosely packed line, my squad readied to fire once again, and I adjusted my sights to shoot the hundred yards. At least it would be easier to make the shots.

Yet I knew it would make little difference. Where men would be reluctant to go when they knew it would be easy for them to die, the Uglies showed no hesitation. Almost as though they were mind-controlled. Yet I had no more time for thinking, because the Uglies came over the lip of the hill. As Straithairn had suspected, all of the Uglies were heading for the nearest squad, so their flanks were exposed to us. I fired off the remainder of my clip, and paused to check how much ammo I had left. Only three clips. Twenty-four shots. That wouldn't last long at all. Heart heavy, and dry mouth even drier with frustrated fear and anger, I reloaded, and began very carefully shooting, until the tell-tale _ping_ of the empty clip being ejected from the rifle was heard. I didn't reload, for I wanted to save two clips for our final stop before the command post.

Thankfully I didn't have to wait long. Soon the resounding blasts of more grenades going off caught our attention, and I didn't have to say anything as the squad fell back. Within moments we were at our new position, and I fed my second to last clip into my rifle. "Come on, boys, pour it on them!" I shouted as we began firing, once again catching the Uglies in their flank. Noticing a small number of Uglies branching off and heading our way, I smacked Jimmy on the shoulder, and the two of us quickly disposed of the bastards.

Without warning, an explosion landed in the middle of the Uglies, scattering body parts and dust in a large cloud, and screams and roars of pain were heard over the sound of the blast. Several more mortar shells landed amongst the enemy hordes before more grenades were heard going off, and the squad high-tailed it back to the base. I only had three rounds left.

Everything seemed to dim then, I remember. With our backs to the wall, the Uglies came straight at us, and I knew that we simply didn't have enough ammo left. A frigid weight seemed to overtake my soul, and the bitter taste of defeat filled my mouth. I wanted to scream in rage, I wanted to cry in despair, I wanted to fly apart, I wanted to shrink to nothingness. Aiming carefully at the loosely packed wall of flesh that was now charging us and kicking up clouds of sooty dust in their wake, hiding just how many of them there were, I fired once...twice...three times, and my rifle gave its final kick against my shoulder. I did not bother to ask for more ammunition, for the number of shots fired dwindled with every passing second.

I looked around me, seeing nothing but terror and despair in the faces of the twenty-two other Americans that were still left to carry on the fight with me. Rage overtook fear and the desire to simply quit. "FIX BAYONETS!" I fairly roared, voice both quivering with emotion and bell clear. Drawing my own bayonet, I mounted it on the end of my rifle with a click that seemed both simple and profound, a final note for our nightmarish stay in this wretched world.

The Uglies began chanting as they ran forward, almost as though they sensed the demeanor of our wretched band changing. I answered in kind. "From the halls of Montezuma, to the shores of Tripoli!" I shouted more than sang, but the Marines around me joined me nonetheless. "We will fight our country's battles, in the air, on land, and sea!" we all belted out, our voices impossibly overtaking the wordless and guttural chanting of the Uglies. "First to fight for right and freedom and to keep our honor clean!" we all bellowed as we swelled to the edges of the command post. We all new how this was going to end, but we didn't care. We were Americans, and we would not go down silently! "WE ARE PROUD TO CLAIM THE TITLE OF **UNITED STATES MARINE**!"

With the last verse ringing clear in our ears, we did the unexpected...the impossible! We jumped out of the uneven trench, formed tight ranks, but by some unspoken command, we charged. No order had been given for us to do this, and even Straithairn with his tommy gun was wedged in our ranks, his eyes wild with anger.

For a moment, I could see it clearly, the fear in our enemies' eyes, and their steps faltered. It was twenty-three versus hundreds...what fool would join in this charge, what right did we have to challenge the inevitable? But then common sense overtook shock in their minds, and crude bows appeared in the hands of a handful of the Uglies. They aimed, and fired.

Most of the shots went wild, yet others didn't. I screamed in pain and rage as one of the arrows sank deep into my thigh, and I tripped hard, landing on my elbow with a sickening crunch as I rolled without control, the arrow breaking under the weight of my body, sending another wave of sickening pain ripping through my body. Yet I forced myself to come around and get to my feet, pausing only to see who else had suffered the same fate as me. Five others, two from my squad. And Straithairn lay on the ground, weakly plucking at the thick, dark arrow that was buried in this neck. "Fuck!" I screamed as I forced my leg to move, bringing me to the fighting. Dimly noticing that I still had two grenades, I armed and threw them as hard as I could into the depth of the Uglies' ranks, the explosions doing little to stop the inevitable.

Even as I ran in a painful limp to my comrades help, I watched helplessly as an Ugly brushed aside the thrust bayonet of one of the Marines with contempt before grabbing him harshly by the shoulder, jagged nails tearing flesh, drawing forth pained screams that rose above the noise of battle before the Ugly lifted its crude sword and slamming it down with a roar of savage joy, the joy of a kill. Shoving the dying Marine away from it, the Ugly only took two steps before three Marines stabbed him with bayoneted rifles, but I payed little attention as I stared at the dying Marine's face in shock. The face of Private Daniels was a mask of fear and pain, and he dropped to his knees, already dead, for the Ugly sword had cleaved him from collar-bone to hip, his insides pouring out onto the sooty ground in a red, glistening, and steaming pile. As Daniels collapsed upon his own intestines, I cried in terrible rage, tears streaming down my face.

I reached the fight, trying to go the the assistance of Sergeant Peterson, but even as I headed towards him, he spun and buried his bayonet in the ribs of an Ugly. His bayonet must have stuck between the ribs of it, for he reached for his ka-bar, but an Ugly stabbed him through the neck, drawing it out and heading for another victim almost before Peterson could register he had been wounded. The doomed sergeant shouted...or tried to, now sound coming out of his mouth. Instead blood spewed out of his mouth, staining his chin and throat as it poured from the two holes in his neck. Then three Uglies converged on him, and the only sight to be seen was their blades rising into the air before descending, only to come up again painted red. I watched helplessly, seeming to run in slow-motion as an Ugly reached down, grabbed something and tore it away, flinging it through the air. It was Peterson's right arm.

Our desperate charge cost the Uglies some of their own, I noted bitterly as I leaped over one of their twisted corpses, and we all knew the outcome of this fight before we even charged. It made it no easier to listen to the screams of pain that my brothers-in-arms made as they were cut down, nor did it make it easier to see their red blood painting the terrain. But then I was in the fight, and I unleashed all of my hatred and anger, my rifle a tool of death and maiming as my bayonet sought tender flesh again and again, finding a throat, or a stomach, or a leg, or a chest within which to bury itself. A sword drew across my back, but I felt no pain as I turned and drove the full weight of the butt of my rifle into the mouth of the Ugly that had struck me, and it squealed in pain as it dropped, jaw broken and teeth shattered, mouth leaking black blood and broken teeth.

A sword pierced my uninjured leg, but even as I fell I slammed back with my rifle, catching another Ugly in the knee with my rifle, driving all ten pounds of metal and wood with crushing force, my strength giving aid to the blow. The Ugly dropped, screaming in bestial pain, and I drew my ka-bar, silencing the inhuman creature with a heavy swipe of the razor sharp blade, splitting open its throat, its blood spraying into the air, some of it landing on my arm, some of it spattering my face, and for a moment I knelt there, watching with fascination as muscles worked and cartilage moved in the ruined neck. But then I was returned to the battle as a Marine moved up to me. "Are you alright, Sarge?" Little Jimmy shouted as he grabbed the back of my field jacket. There was a nasty cut above his eyes, but I noticed he had armed himself with an Ugly sword and an Ugly hand-axe. He dragged me back from the battle, dropping my back into the command post, despite my protests. Everything seemed to be ringing, and I barely noticed as Jimmy jumped over me and headed back to the fight. Momentarily I wondered at the lack of pain I was feeling, and at the knife and rifle I still clutched. I could barely remember what they were for. But then I forced myself to sit up, and watch what remained of the battle.

I could do nothing but watch as the few Marines left were separated and butchered. I gnashed my teeth as one of them was decapitated, blood spurting bright in the gloomy air. I shouted when I saw Jimmy have one of his legs taken off, ending his frenzied whirl-wind of death. The Uglies swarmed over his position, and I was unable to tell what punishment they bestowed upon him. Later I would learn that it was Thompson who was decapitated, and that the Uglies ate Jimmy's heart, liver, and kidneys. No doubt they would have continued, had they not been interrupted.

Even as the last standing Marine was cut down, there was a clamor of horns, sounding fierce battle orders in silvery notes, and I numbly thought that they were far more beautiful than the bugle that had been omnipresent at basic training. Then I watched as every single last Ugly was cut down by arrow and sword, my rescuers clad in golden-green armor, their banners flying free on the wind. I noticed one with dark hair and a blue cloak running towards me, but I was too tired to care if he was going to kill me or save me. My eyes drifted close, and moments later, I felt warm and soothing hands on my brow. The being above my shouted something in an intricate and beautiful tongue, and as I fell into oblivion, I heard many voices rising in song, and I felt as though I would cry, for it was the saddest and the fairest thing that had ever fallen on my ears. And then, there was nothing but darkness.


End file.
